Now Queen, dear Queen, receive this anadem
From reverent hand to deck thy golden hair;
For to me sole of men this grace is given,
That I be with thee, converse hold with thee, 85
Hearing thy voice, yet seeing not thy face.
And may I end life's race as I began.
Servant.
Prince, —for the Gods we needs must call our Lords,—
Wouldst thou receive of me good counselling?
Hippolytus.
Yea surely: else were I fool manifest. 90
Servant.
Knowest thou then the stablished wont of men?
Hippolytus.
Not I: whereof is this thou questionest me?
Servant.
To hate the proud reserve that owns few friends.
Hippolytus.
Rightly: what proud man is not odious?
Servant.
And in the gracious is there nought of charm? 95
Hippolytus.
Yea, much, and profit won with little pains.
Servant.
And deem'st thou not this same may hold with Gods?
